His Virgin Mistress Part 11

He'd thought she was trying to provoke him, and perhaps she had been. But he knew her better now, and he sensed that, for all her s.e.xy clothes and striking beauty, she was not flirtatious. In fact there was something almost innocent about her at times.

And there was no denying that when he'd kissed her at the temple her response had been deliciously unrehea.r.s.ed.

Or perhaps he was only fooling himself, he thought irri tably.

He believed it would take a clever woman indeed to deceive him, but what if she was that woman? Was he being blinded by his own unwilling attraction to her? Was she using that to disguise a character that was far more complex than even he could imagine?

He didn't know. In fact, he knew precious little about her.

His father seemed to have great faith in her, but what did that mean? Constantine had been ill; very ill. How did he know she hadn't used his illness to get close to him? It seemed mightily suspicious that from being some kind of clerk in an auction house she had graduated to wearing de signer clothes and flaunting the friends.h.i.+p of a man like Constantine Kastro.

Friends.h.i.+p!

Demetri's stomach felt hollow. Friends.h.i.+p wasn't the half of it, he thought angrily, deliberately feeding his revulsion in an attempt to dispel the bitter jealousy that was gripping him. She wasn't his father's friend; she was his mistress. Did Constantine have any idea of what he was risking, get ting involved with a woman like her?

Probably not, he decided grimly. And now that the wed ding was over perhaps it was time he made more of an effort to find out all there was to know about Mrs Joanna Manning. Where did she live, for instance? Had she really had an unhappy childhood?

And where was this elusive ex-husband who, according to her, had made her life so mis erable? How long had they been married? Why had the mar riage broken up? Did Constantine know? Did anybody know? Or was her past, like her present, shrouded in mys tery?

He supposed he could put Spiro onto it. His a.s.sistant was a computer genius, and it would take him only a short time to discover everything Demetri wanted to know. All he needed was an address and the place she banked, and Spiro could hack into the appropriate records. In a matter of hours he'd have a file that even the secret police would be proud of.

The trouble was, that was illegal. He could hire a private detective, of course. But if his father ever found out that someone had been checking up on Joanna without his per mission there'd be h.e.l.l to pay. It wouldn't matter if the investigation was justified. Constantine demanded total loy alty from his employees and his family, and Demetri would bear the brunt of his father's wrath.

No, if he wanted to learn anything about Joanna he would have to do it himself. But how? How did one investigate someone about whom he knew so little? And whatever he decided to do, it had to be fairly soon.

He didn't know why, exactly, but he had the feeling that time was running out on him. He still didn't know why his father had been to see his lawyer, and the possible implications of that visit filled him with suspicion. Spiro had asked him at the beginning of the week whether he thought his father planned to marry Joanna, and he'd dismissed the idea at the time. But now it wasn't half so unimaginable as it had seemed then.

He walked to the rail that edged the balcony and stood for several minutes staring down at the gardens below his windows.

Though mostly in darkness, one or two bulbs were still burning, lighting the paths and giving an eerie radiance to the shrubs that surrounded them.

The marquee was still standing on the lawns below the terrace. The contractors would be coming to take it down in the morning, but until then it stood there like a ghostly shroud. He didn't like the metaphor and turned away abruptly. It would be morning soon enough, and he had to get some sleep.

Sleep! His lips twisted. How could he sleep with the knowledge that Joanna was sleeping with his father at the other side of the house? In fact, the balcony he was standing on now wrapped right around the upper floor of the villa. He had only to turn a couple of corners and he'd be standing outside the very room where Constantine and Joanna slept.

His nerves tightened as a thought occurred to him. If Joanna was sleeping with his father, it followed that her room would be unoccupied right now. It was separated from his father's apartments by a sitting room and double pan elled doors, as he knew only too well. If she'd left the win dow unlatched-and it was possible-he'd have an oppor tunity to go through her belongings without anyone being any the wiser.

He didn't know what he expected to find, though there was bound to be some identification among her papers. Her pa.s.sport, for instance. He'd find her address, at least, and then it would be up to him whether he took it any further; whether he told Spiro what he'd done.

His nerves tingled as he went back into his bedroom and stripped off the white s.h.i.+rt he had worn for his sister's wed- ding.

He replaced it with a short-sleeved black tee s.h.i.+rt that, together with his dark trousers, made him a much less con spicuous target in the moonlight.

His lips twisted. Theos, he wasn't used to this. No matter what justification he gave to himself, he didn't like it. It smacked too much of attempted voyeurism, and, although he wasn't planning on invading his father's bedroom and checking that they were together, if he was caught- But he wouldn't be caught, he a.s.sured himself. As well as Joanna's sitting room, his father's sitting room lay be tween him and his father's bedroom. They'd never hear him. And if the window was locked it was all hypothetical any way.

The window wasn't locked. In fact it was standing slightly ajar, and there was a lamp burning in the room. Demetri saw the light s.h.i.+ning out onto the balcony and cursed his ill luck.

He was tempted to turn back, but something-some in- tuition, perhaps-urged him to go on. There was no sound and, flattening himself against the wall, he took a surrepti tious glance into the room.

It was empty. The doors to his father's apartments were closed, and although the door to Joanna's bedroom was open there was no light in there. It looked as if leaving the lamp on had been an oversight. He pressed himself back against the wall again, trying to decide what to do.

This was ludicrous, he thought. She wasn't there. He was so attuned to Joanna's presence that he felt sure he'd have sensed it if she'd been in her own bed. Okay, leaving the window open had been foolish, but there had never been any real danger on the island. Constantine had probably told her that the grounds were patrolled after dark, and maybe she'd had other things on her mind when she'd left the sit ting room.

He scowled. This was not the time to be thinking about what those things might be. Pull yourself together, he ordered impatiently. He didn't have a lot of time. It was al ready after two a.m.

Pus.h.i.+ng the window wider, he waited only a second be fore easing into the room. His heart was hammering in his chest and he had to suppress a gulp of harsh laughter. Theos, what had she brought him to? Here he was, breaking into his own home!

Well, hardly breaking in, he amended, crossing the room on cautious feet. He frowned. But he ought to have an ex planation prepared in case one of the servants disturbed him. What excuse could he give for being here? That he'd heard an intruder? Did that sound feasible? All right, his rooms were nowhere near Joanna's, but he could always say he'd been taking an evening stroll along the balcony when he'd seen someone enter this room.

He shook his head. An evening stroll at two o'clock in the morning? Who was going to believe that?

Well, it didn't matter what anyone else believed. They didn't have to believe him. He was doing this for his father, no one else.

He deserved to know if the woman who had his confidence was worthy of the honour.

Yeah, right!

His deviousness appalled him. He wasn't doing this for his father; he was doing it for himself. But it wasn't sensible to be conducting an inquest on his character right now. He was here for a purpose, and the sooner he found what he was looking for, the sooner he could get back to his own room.

The sitting room offered no solutions. Apart from the san dals she'd been wearing earlier, which she'd kicked off near the balcony doors, there was nothing to show that this was Joanna's room. Any personal items must be in the bedroom and, stifling a feeling of apprehension, he moved to the bed room doorway.

He would have to turn on a light, he realised. Although he'd regretted the lamp in the sitting room, it had made searching the place that much easier. In here, with the blinds drawn, there was no illumination whatsoever. Tiptoeing over to the bed, he listened intently for the sound of breathing, but he couldn't hear anything. Expelling a sigh of relief, he stepped back and turned on the lamp.

As he'd expected, the bed was empty. But-and this was disturbing-the sheets were tumbled and there was the def inite imprint of a head on one of the lace-trimmed pillows.

His brows drew together. She must have gone to bed before his father had sent for her. The old man had returned early, after all. He'd probably been asleep when she'd come upstairs. So what, then? Had he woken up? Or was she the one who'd decided she needed his company?

That was harder to stomach. No matter how often he told himself he shouldn't be surprised by anything she did, he always was. He wanted her to be something she was not, he realised painfully. But what?

He didn't know what made him glance behind him just then.

He'd observed her handbag lying on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, and he should have been moving to wards it. But instead he looked round-and found Joanna herself standing in the open doorway.

He supposed he ought to be grateful that she hadn't screamed. Finding a dark-clad man in her bedroom would have been enough to spook most women, but not her. How long had she been standing there watching him? And why, when he should have been refining his story to explain this intrusion, could he only stare at her with undisguised hunger in his eyes?

She looked so beautiful, he thought, his own forbidden pa.s.sion for her never more acute than at this moment. She was wearing a silk negligee over a matching nightgown in a particularly subtle shade of gold that complemented her skin. The cord was tied loosely at her waist and her hair tumbled, soft and l.u.s.trous, about her shoulders. She looked like his every dream-and his every nightmare. He wanted her-but he couldn't have her. She wasn't his. And that knowledge was tearing him apart.

'Demetri.' She said his name softly, with a disconcerting lack of surprise. 'What are you doing here? Did Constantine send for you?'

Constantine.'

The mention of his father's name brought him briefly to his senses. 'Does he know I am here?'

She blinked. 'Don't you know?'

Demetri shook his head to clear it. 'No,' he said in a low voice. 'That is-I did not come to see my father. I came to see you.' He paused, but he had to know. 'Where have you been?'

'I was with your father,' she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her words crucified him. 'Why did you want to see me? I-' She broke off, as if just realising what time it was. 'It's the middle of the night!'

'I know what time it is,' muttered Demetri, wondering what had possessed him to tell her the truth. He should get out of here right now.

'Then-?'

He threw caution to the winds. 'We did not finish our conversation earlier.'

He saw at once that she knew what he was talking about, but he saw just as clearly that she chose not to admit it. 'What conversation would that be?' she demanded con temptuously.

And then, as if realising their voices might carry on the still night air, she lowered her tone. 'I think you'd better go.'

'No.' No matter how unwise this was, he had to have some answers. 'We need to talk.'

'Without being interrupted by one of your many girl friends?'

she enquired coldly. She stepped aside from the doorway. 'Go!

Go now! Before I decide to start screaming that there's an intruder in my room.'

'You would not do that.'

'No?'

'No.' He took a deep breath. 'I believe you have more- respect for my father than that.'

'But you don't,' she retorted in a low angry tone. 'Have a care, Demetri. I haven't told him about what happened at the temple yet, but that doesn't mean I won't.'

'Joanna...'

He started towards her, but she backed away into the sitting room. She was shaking her head as she groped behind her, trying to avoid falling headlong over the sofa that stood in the middle of the floor. Her hair was a pale aureole in the lamplight, accentuating the sudden colour that was spreading up her throat.

She had never looked more lovely, more desirable. Or more untouchable.

Then she parted her lips, and Demetri didn't think before acting. He told himself later that he'd been afraid she was going to scream, as she'd threatened, but that wasn't the whole truth.

Covering the s.p.a.ce between them, he caught her as she would have whirled away, jerking her back against him and silencing that tempting mouth with his hand.

He didn't know which of them was the most shocked by the experience. She seemed to freeze, her whole body stiff ening in outrage and disbelief. For his part, his senses were immediately a.s.sailed by the fragrance of her hair, the scent of lemon and verbena mingling with the warm perfume of her body.

But his moment of respite didn't last long. Almost at once she started to struggle against the confining circle of his arm, the m.u.f.fling indignity of his hand across her mouth. She was stronger than he'd thought, and he had to fight to keep her anch.o.r.ed against him, his own body responding to the spicy heat she was exuding.

'Efkolos, efkolos,' he said hoa.r.s.ely. Easy, easy. 'I am not going to hurt you. I just want to talk with you, that is all.'

Her response stunned him. Instead of giving up the un equal battle, she only increased her efforts to get away from him. And before he had time to a.s.similate his position, to decide how, if at all, he could reason with her, he felt a searing pain in his hand.

Khristo, she had bitten him!

He couldn't believe it. Letting her go now, without caring for the consequences, he gazed down at the blood oozing out of the soft flesh of his palm. He stared incredulously at the line of teeth marks that defined the bite, and then lifted his head to stare at her. She was crazy, he thought blankly. And he was crazy for thinking she would listen to him.

But she didn't scream.

Although she'd put the width of the room between them, she made no attempt to summon a.s.sistance. On the contrary, she was standing twisting her hands together at her waist, and when their eyes met he was almost sure he saw remorse in their depths.

He knew he should go. Whatever was going on here, he wasn't going to solve it by appealing to her better nature. But all the same he couldn't leave without saying incredu lously, 'Why?'

He lifted his hand and a drop of blood fell onto the rug at his feet. 'Why this?'

She untangled her hands and pressed one to her throat. 'You wouldn't understand.'

Try me.'

Her tongue circled her upper lip. 'I think you ought to put a plaster on that cut.'

Demetri's mouth twisted. 'Why? Am I in danger of con- tracting blood poisoning, too?'

Joanna hesitated and then, incredibly, she said. 'You'd better come into the bathroom. I think I've got something you can use in there.'

Demetri's jaw dropped. 'You are offering to tend to my injury?' he asked disbelievingly, and her eyes darted away from his.

'The-the bathroom's through here,' she mumbled, in stead of giving him an answer. She sidestepped past him and went through the bedroom to the bathroom beyond. A light went on and, against his better judgment, Demetri cupped his injured hand in his other palm and moved to support himself against the frame of the bedroom door.

He couldn't see into the bathroom itself, but the mirrors that lined the walls threw back the reflection of Joanna rif fling through the cabinet, taking out tubes and packets of plasters, extracting cotton wool b.a.l.l.s from what he a.s.sumed was her own toilet bag. Her industry would have amused him if he hadn't felt such a baffling sense of confusion.

Then she came to the open doorway. 'Are you coming?' she asked, still avoiding his gaze, 'I think you ought to wash it first.'

Feeling a little as if he'd stepped into some parallel uni verse, Demetri straightened and walked around the bed to where she was waiting. He now saw that what she was hold ing was antiseptic ointment and, stepping back, she indi cated that he should rinse his palm at the sink.

He did as she suggested, and then acquiesced again when she gestured for him to sit on the side of the bath. Taking a swab of cotton wool, she dried his palm first and then, with evident reluctance, took his wrist between her fingers.

'This may hurt,' she said, squeezing a little of the anti septic cream onto the wound, and he gave her a weird look.

'Tell me about it,' he remarked drily, in an effort to dis tract himself from the dusky cleavage she exposed when she bent over him. 'Why did you do it?'

She sighed, her warm breath fanning his palm. 'Let's just say I don't like anyone- any man-forcing me to-to do something.'

'Is that what you think I was doing?' protested Demetri, horrified. 'For G.o.d's sake, Joanna, I meant what I said. I would never hurt you.' Unable to help himself, he used his free hand to lift her chin so that he could look into her face. 'You believe me, do you not?'

He saw her swallow, saw the convulsive movement of her throat as she endeavoured to sustain his invasive stare. Then, with a nervous movement of her shoulders, she lifted her chin out of his hand and looked back at her task. 'You don't understand.'

'No, I do not,' he agreed huskily. 'So why do you not enlighten me?'

She took a deep breath, and after removing the surplus ointment from around the cut she smoothed a plaster over it. He thought she wasn't going to say anything more, but suddenly she lifted her head and looked at him again.

'My-my ex-husband tried to persuade me to-to have s.e.x with another man.' she said, straightening. Then, with a complete change of expression, 'Does that feel all right?'

Demetri was stunned. But not so stunned as to allow her to turn away from him. Capturing her hand, he held onto it. To his relief, she didn't try to resist.

'Your-ex-husband?' he echoed, trying to make sense of what she'd said. 'Joanna-'

'He was gay,' she explained matter-of-factly, not looking at him. 'His parents didn't know. They would have been mortified if they had. They were fairly old, and old- fas.h.i.+oned. Richard was their only son, their only child. They thought he was perfect.'